For A Moment We're The Same
by Pandora of Ithilien
Summary: Oneshot series focusing on England and his siblings. Chapter 3: A family tradition of swordplay. USUK and other pairings likely to show up now and then, rated T for safety.
1. Family Tree

Family Tree of Sorts

England/Albion/Wessex = Artur/Arthur Kirkland

Ireland/Eire = Brighid/Brigid O'Leary

Northern Ireland/Tuaisceart Eireann = Patrick O'Leary-Kirkland (Brigid either calls him Patrick or Thuaidh (North), his brothers call him North or Patrick)

Scotland/Alba = Cal Stuart

Wales/Cymru = Bran Llywelyn

Cornwall/Kernow = Perran Tamar

Brittany/Breizh = Merry Conan

Sealand = Peter Kirkland

All the human names for OCs have some kind of historical reference; Bran is the name of a Celtic god, Brigid is the name of a saint named after a Celtic god (Brighid), Cal is taken from Caledonia, an alternate name for Scotland, Perran and Patrick are saints connected to their respective countries, and Merry Conan is a reference to Conan Meriadoc, who is the probably mythical founder of Brittany. (Note, Brittany is female.) Artur is an older form of Arthur.

Scotland, Wales, and Cornwall are England's older brothers, while Ireland is his twin. The older three adopted both England and Ireland at the same time and they have the same eyes, hence the "twin" designation. Brittany, a Celtic nation but part of France, is a cousin rather than a sibling. Northern Ireland is the younger brother of Ireland and England, and adopted by Scotland, Wales, and Cornwall. Sealand is England's little brother, and adopted by the rest of the family when he isn't being an honorary Nordic thanks to being adopted by Sweden and Finland.


	2. Official Visit

It's always a big to-do when a foreign head of state comes to visit, but this is different. This is the British Queen, Elizabeth II, visiting Ireland. It's yet another sign that Britain and Ireland get along these days, something Ireland herself once thought would be impossible. It's also the first time a British monarch has visited Ireland as a sovereign state. George V came in 1911, but Ireland still belonged to the U.K. then. Now, she's been on her own since 1922, the only one of their siblings to be completely independent.

It looks like her boss and the Queen are getting on just fine, and all Ireland wants is a few minutes away from all this modern pomp, from the people who just... can't understand. Oh, they know it's historic, but they don't really know why. They also don't know, can't know, that she looks at the two women, her President and Britain's Queen, and doesn't see them, or even George V. What she sees is much further back, and took place in the English court anyway. And these people don't understand that, just like most of them don't know that the slight redhead in the green dress that matches her eyes is the personification of the land they currently stand on.

There's one person here who does understand, of course, and Ireland catches his attention, eyes as green as her own narrowing under bushy brows as he takes in her expression. She tilts her head to the gardens outside and then slips out through a side door, trusting that England will follow her. Outside, she toys with the ivy that no one can get rid of - and she's glad they don't try, because she likes it. Footsteps on the path behind her make her smile, but she doesn't turn.

"My _Sinn Fein's_ not best pleased," she says lightly. "They didn't think now was the right time." Not without reason, because this brother of hers has been amazingly cruel to her so many times over the years, sometimes of his own will and sometimes because his boss ordered it and his feelings, in the end, don't matter.

"The rest of your country was all right with it, though," England says. "Are you telling me you agree with the _Sinn Fein_?" He sounds irritated but she can hear what's under it, the uncertainty. She remembers, suddenly, the personal letter she'd gotten in the mail after Tony Blair officially apologized to Ireland for how Britain had treated her country. But Blair hadn't mattered. The short, handwritten letter signed _Arthur_ had. That apology, the Good Friday agreement, the devolved governments that Thuaidh, Scotland, and Wales have now... England is trying, she knows. He's trying to repair centuries of sibling rivalry turned into real feuding.

"No, of course I don't," she says firmly, turning around. "And they were reasonable about it, so don't get your knickers in a twist. They had valid points, but even so I think this is overall for the good. Symbolic, and all. But even so, I can't help remembering..." She sighs, and shakes her head, running a hand through her newly shortened hair. She kept it long for centuries, finally giving in and getting a bob cut for it only a month ago. It still feels uncomfortably light. "I hope no one tosses a handkerchief in the fire this time," she jokes with a wan smile.

The wry smirk she gets in return tells her that England has been thinking about it too. Her Grace and his Bess, all those years ago, and the pirate legacy that is the bond between them. Because England was Captain Arthur Kirkland once, a privateer who mostly terrorized Spanish ships, but as Brigid O'Leary, Ireland served under Grace O'Malley, Ireland's Pirate Queen. Their siblings don't have that history, don't have that one bond that no one else has ever understood.

Grace went to Elizabeth I's court to meet her, as well, which makes this visit a strange one. Ireland's current boss and her predecessor both visited the Queen, so it's only fair that the Queen makes the trip this time, but neither of them are thinking about that.

"You know, Brigid, Grace would be proud," England says. "You're free now, and she did support a lot of the rebellions back then." He flushes, then grumbles, "Of course, she also made quite a nuisance of herself, and you kept that tradition up long after she was gone."

Ireland laughs, too used to her brother's moodiness to get irritated with him over it."And Bess? Do you think she would be angry that you had an Empire and now all that's left is a loosely tied Commonwealth? At best?"

"I'd like to think she'd see we did what we could, and she'd have been proud of the fact that we were the last ones standing against the Germans, in the 40s."

Ireland remembers that. She'd been neutral in the Second World War, after fighting alongside her brothers for the first one, but she'd helped the Allies with supplies, and part of her had wanted to fight. Because it was her family, after all. But her people hadn't wanted it, and so she'd stayed out of it until Thuaidh, Patrick was bombed. She still doesn't know if the bombing of Dublin was because Germany and his boss were irritated at her complaints over Thuaidh, or if it really was the accident Germany told her it was.

"Elizabeth Tudor always was eminently practical," Ireland agrees. "I respected her, even though she was an arch bitch and put me through hell. I suppose it's because she was a worthy opponent. That was what Grace called her, on the trip back home Like you. If nothing else, you were always that, weren't you, Arthur?"

"Elizabeth told me the same thing about Grace. But then, they were alike, weren't they?" England comments. "Women who led in a world mostly ruled by men. And yes, I'd like to think if nothing else we managed to be worthy opponents. And now we get along, for the most part. I mean, we don't even fight over Patrick anymore."

"Patrick was tired of us fighting over him, and his people fighting each other. I don't blame him. But we'll only have really succeeded in making the family get along if you and Cal can get through a Council meeting without Bran or Perran having to tear you off each other."

"It's not my fault if Scotland is intemperate!"

"I don't think Scotland's the only one." Ireland quips with a grin. "But at any rate, it's good to be more or less a family again. And this is just one more way of proving it."

England opens his mouth to say something, but he's interrupted. "What are you two doing out here?" a familiar voice calls. Of course, for a meeting between the Republic of Ireland and the U.K., there'd have to be a group from Northern Ireland involved, and of course their little brother would tag along. Thuaidh has red, floppy hair that all but hides his bushy brows and constantly falls into his green eyes. Despite all he's been through, he still looks like he's only about seventeen, and sometimes he acts it. Like right now, when he's in a suit but his tie's already gone and so is his jacket, the the sleeves of his dress shirt sloppily rolled up.

"We were just talking, Patrick," England says with a fond smile. They've always gotten on, these two, despite the fact that parts of Thuaidh would prefer to join with Ireland. He chose England long ago, and Ireland's come to terms with that. It's easier because she remembers the years after England lost America, how the small boy that Thuaidh was then seemed to be the only one who could pull England from alternating states of depression and Empire-coldness.

"Well, your bosses are wondering where you are," Thuaidh says. "I might be a mix of both of you, but I can't cover for you with this. It's not like it's a World Meeting." He smirks, and England goes bright red.

"I thought we were never going to speak of that again!" he snaps. "Besides, that was your fault and Sealand's anyway, North, it was only right that you had to help fix it."

"And you've already made both Peter and Patrick pay dearly for that little prank," Ireland breaks in quickly, too used to years of brotherly spats to let this one get out of hand. Even if these two won't get past verbal sniping, they are too close to being in public.

The three of them head back inside together, England and the two Irelands, with a level of fondness between them that crosses even the harsh divides of centuries of feuding, and when Ireland glances over her shoulder, she thinks for a moment that she can see the outlines of two women in the air, both of whom look satisfied enough with what they see.

A/N: So, this is my first Hetalia fic, and updates will probably be sporadic since I have other stories besides this in two other fandoms, but the British-Irish family wouldn't get out of my head.

The idea for this oneshot came from a BBC article about a planned visit to Dublin by Queen Elizabeth II, which will apparently occur on May 17, 2011. It was also inspired by the story of Grace O'Malley, an Irish clan chief and pirate who really did meet Elizabeth I face-to-face. They seem to have gotten on well enough, though Elizabeth didn't honor the promises made during their meeting. The handkerchief reference is based on a story that Grace sneezed during the meeting with Elizabeth, was given a handkerchief, and after using it threw it into a fireplace. This was because in Ireland they destroyed used handkerchiefs, but it shocked the English court.

The "Council" refers to the British-Irish Council, an organization including the countries of the U.K., three British Crown dependencies (who may or may not have personification, I've yet to decide), and the Republic of Ireland. I figure that some of these meetings include the personifications of the countries in question.


	3. The Opposite Of What You See

Most people assume that England hates Sealand. England is just fine with that, it's what he'd prefer people think. It's easier that way. Pretending to hate the boy means that they'll never be close, and so Sealand will never be able to leave him behind. It's not ideal, and England will be the first to admit it, but it's the best plan he's got.

Being left behind is the one thing that terrifies him more than anything, and always has. He thinks it goes back to living in Rome's house, and knowing down to his bones that he'd been left behind, by people he thought loved him. Years later, he'll remember why. He'll remember that Ireland was sent away, but it still felt like the little girl who had been his twin sister had left him and he was too young to know she hadn't wanted to. He'll also remember that Scotland went as far north as he could, and evaded Rome's clutches rather than help his family. But worse, far worse is that Wales and Cornwall, captured by Rome like England was, escaped, but they left him there alone.

All this came flooding back to him during the Second World War. One night at the height of the Blitz, the pain sent him into a near-delirium, and he remembered. He'd blocked out most of his time with Rome, and thankfully he still doesn't remember much of it. But he does remember Rome picking him up and shaking him the morning it was discovered that his older brothers were gone. And he remembers realizing that they hadn't even tried to bring him along.

Sometimes England wonders if, deep down, this is why he conquered them. So they wouldn't be able to leave again.

He knows that's why he was such a fool with America. Looking back, he can see where he went wrong in trying to make America stay, and while he still refuses to take all the blame for the Revolution, he can't look at it as just Alfred being an ungrateful wretch anymore. He wishes he could because then it would be easier. Easier than knowing that the boy he adored is now a man he loves, a man that hates him. But he tells himself that doesn't matter because he learned his lesson.

After America, he grew harsh with his colonies. They'll want to leave him even if he tries to be good to them, he thought, so why bother? He told himself that at least if he didn't let himself care it wouldn't hurt so much. Oh, Australia and New Zealand, sometimes Hong Kong, and especially Northern Ireland managed to crack the cold Empire mask from time to time, but for the most part his plan worked. Quite a few of his former colonies still resent him, and even those that don't aren't close enough to hurt him. He's lonely, but he's not broken. Right?

Then came Sealand. To this day, Arthur doesn't understand how the boy can exist; he's the personification of a metal base, and it makes no sense. Greece once asked if Sealand was his son, rather than his brother, and the question has given England pause on more than one occasion. Others have said the same thing about Northern Ireland, with himself and Ireland as parents. But he thinks he'd remember having sex with someone - especially his _sister_, in North's case - in order to be a father. Though, honestly, none of them are entirely sure how nations like themselves come to be "born" so maybe it's possible. But it doesn't change anything.

When England first saw Sealand and looked into his wide, trusting blue eyes, all he could think was that he couldn't do it again. He couldn't stand to let anyone else into his heart, brother, son, whatever Peter - _Sealand_- really was to him. He couldn't do it. And so he's made Peter hate him.

But Arthur still loves the boy, brother, son, whatever he is. He can't help it. But he'll never tell anyone. He'll never talk about how, the times when Sealand is forced to stay with him, he'll just stand in the boy's doorway and watch him sleep for a while, just so he can be sure Peter's all right. He'll never admit the stark terror he'd felt when Peter's base caught fire, or why he was so determined to put the flames out.

He'll never admit that he loves Peter, because even though this hurts, he knows it could be much worse, and he's too scared to risk experiencing _that_ again.

* * *

><p>Everyone thinks that Sealand hates his older brother. He calls him Jerkland and plays tricks on him all the time, after all. But what no one knows is that Sealand's doing it for attention. Yes, he wants his big brother to admit he's his own country, but he'd like him to do that and smile at him, the way he does Australia or New Zealand, or Canada when he remembers him. He knows England is proud of those three, and fond of them, and he thinks he'd like that too.<p>

France likes to tease Sealand by pointing out that he looks a lot like a blue-eyed version of a little England. Sealand would like to argue, but after a series of unfortunate events that helped him find out exactly what a little England, even smaller than him, would look like, he kind of has to agree. Sealand's not dumb, he knows that most siblings don't look that much alike and he wonders if that's why England doesn't like him. Does he think Sealand will replace him or something, is that why he won't recognize him as a country?

That's not what Sealand wants, it's not what he's ever wanted. Sure, he tells England that one day he'll bow to him, but though he means it when he says it - he's angry when he says it - he doesn't really want England to bow to him. He'd like to have England look at him the way he looks at other countries, and talk to him like he is one. He's small, and he looks twelve, but he's not a kid and he doesn't want to be treated like one.

He's also not stupid, which is why he doesn't like America. Because it's all that hamburger-jerk's fault, isn't it? Australia told him that with a wry smile, told him that America was the one person England never got over losing. He knows, Australia said, because he was the one who spent centuries trying to prove he wouldn't be like America, he'd be a good little brother, and he only became independent because he realized it was no use. Sealand is made of metal, so his punch hurts, and if he wasn't so darn short and America so tall he'd punch the other nation in the nose. Maybe he did have to leave, but did he have to mess it up for everyone else when he did?

Sometimes he's sure England does care about him. Peter can remember how scared his brother looked when he collapsed the day his body caught on fire. He knows, because Patrick told him later, that England sent firefighters to stop the flames really fast, and he can remember being tucked up in bed afterwards, mostly asleep and someone beside him on the bed. He remembers long fingers carding through his hair and someone singing to him. Later he puts it all together and realizes that the faint smell of tea and burnt scones that accompanied the person means it was Arthur.

So Peter knows, deep down, that Arthur loves him. But his older brother won't show it. He wishes that he would, and even his adoptive fathers Sweden and Finland can't quite fill that hole in his life.

He's just not going to tell anyone about that.

A/N: The bit about Australia was taken from something I came across online about Australia refusing to ratify their own separation from the British Empire when it first happened, so I got the image of Australia trying to prove he was a better brother than America – since Australia was colonized to replace America in the first place, that made sense to me. We may or may not be seeing more of Australia and New Zealand (who in my headcanon is a girl because Hetalia needs more girls), I've not decided yet.


	4. Swordplay

"Alba, what are you up to now?" Cymru says tiredly as he frowns at the two small swords in his brother's hands. "Those are too bloody small for any of us. Kernow'll have your head if he thinks you're wasting forge-time on toys, you know how he is."

"They're not for us," Alba retorts, rolling his eyes. "I thought it was about time we started showing Albion and Eire how to defend themselves. I don't like what Breizh said the last time she visited us, about this 'Rome' who keeps going after nations. I know they're little yet, but they need to defend themselves." Cymru is not used to his auburn-haired, stormy-eyed brother being so serious and calm, and narrows his pale blue eyes at the other nation.

"Are you feeling like yourself? You usually leave the little ones to me; you said you don't have the patience to deal with them till they're older."

Alba's cheeks go redder than Eire's hair and he scuffs a booted foot across the ground. "I don't. But I don't want to see them get snatched up without a fight either. They're our siblings; if they're that weak it looks bad for us!"

Cymru manages not to roll his eyes, because surely even Alba knows how pathetically weak that defense is. But he's used to his brother's contradictory, contrary moods, and thinks nothing of it. Instead he beckons to one of the tree sprites and asks her to go fetch the little ones, which she does. Albion and Eire come over still playing at some kind of game, though he's not entirely sure what said game entails. It's fun, apparently, because two pairs of green eyes are sparkling.

"All right, you two, now pay attention to me," Alba says sharply, and those same pairs of green eyes turn wary as they focus on him. Cymru sighs, because Alba really doesn't know how to handle children, does he? Not that Cymru himself is much better, and Kernow's equally hapless, but Alba just takes the flaw to new heights. At least Cymru and Kernow don't make Albion and Eire terrified of them.

But he doesn't do so badly once he puts the swords in those small hands, adjusting stances and grips before showing them basic moves and setting them loose on each other. Cymru doesn't even have to intervene, though he willingly agrees to be Alba's sparring partner for a demonstration of how it should be done. And as the weeks pass he finds himself being drawn in, working mostly with Albion while Alba works with Eire. Kernow shows up and watches, his amusement plain to see, before he too starts to help. And the brothers get to share their pride when their younger siblings begin to show true skill. Even if, in the end, it's not enough to protect them.

* * *

><p><em>In the end Cymru and Kernow escape from Rome's house by their skills with a blade. They leave Albion behind, since he does not have the ability they do, and if they take him they will all be lost again. Alba is safe in his northern moors, Eire hidden in her island's green fields, and when Cymru and Kernow return home they fade into the shadows so as not to be found again. They all forget the boy left to Rome's mercy and so when as Wessex he wreaks his vengeance on Kernow, and later on Cymru when the younger is England and the elder is Wales, they don't think of this as the reason why. <em>

When Eire and Albion sparring for fun becomes Ireland and England in deadly earnest and the tip of England's sword rests at Ireland's throat, when Alba becomes Scotland and he and England feud for centuries, those days haunt them all. Except the one whose sword spills his siblings' blood, because he can't even remember why he knows how to wield his blade so well or why he is so angry. Only that he needs to make them hurt, make them cry, because somehow they deserve it.

Scotland insists on tagging along with England on his latest visit to North America. After all, England's King is his King, so technically these colonies belong to them both, right? The furious look he gets is highly amusing, but really Scotland is bored - and desperately curious. He'd like to know about this Canada that England is so willing to fight France over, even though England and France hardly need a reason to fight. More than that, he wants to know about America, because when England talks about the little colony he's adopted something in his eyes is more Albion than anything else.

They look remarkably alike, these two small colonies, blond hair and big eyes. Only Canada's eyes are violet and America's are blue, and their hair is different too. Most of all, America is loud and daring, while Canada is so quiet as to almost disappear.

And yet it's Canada who asks Scotland about the sword in his trunk, while America is pestering England about something. (Scotland gets the impression that happens a lot, though England's lack of irritation is a surprise.) The louder boy comes running at the mention of weapons, and Scotland is shocked to learn that they don't know the first thing about using swords. "At your age? I had that one in full fightin' form by then, lads," he says, jerking his thumb at England, who simply raises one over-thick eyebrow disdainfully.

"I have no idea what you mean."

Scotland ignores this foolishness, as that's what it must be, in favor of ordering a blacksmith to make two practice swords. When his brother demands to know what he's up to he tells England that he's simply remedying the younger nation's error in not teaching the boys how to use swords, and when the blacksmith is done and the swords are safe to hold, he passes one to each boy. It's as though the past has returned, and he glances at England, who has an odd look on his face.

Deciding that it will do America some good to come second now and then, Scotland focuses on Canada first, moving his hands on the hilt and adjusting the way the boy stands. His intentions are thwarted when England, previously standing aloof from it all, does the same with America, but he can't be bothered to care. Besides, becoming involved will do _England_good, he decides.

America plays at fighting with the boundless enthusiasm he seems to put to everything else, and Canada flinches from his wild swinging. England calms America and helps him to focus, while Scotland shores up Canada's resolve until he stops flinching and blocks his brother's calmer strikes with ease. The older nations share an amused glance, and for a moment, they're a family at peace.

* * *

><p><em>They'll use both blade and gun at Culloden, when Scotland's king is ousted from Britain's throne, and he will sink to his knees on the battlefield soaked with the blood of his clansmen. Scotland will lose his King and despise his brother more than ever, and he will try to forget the day when he thought teaching two boys might bring back the past.<em>

_And at the end, it is a bayonet, a blade, that England points at America's face, anger and betrayal heating his blood. It's a blade that he wishes he could use to stop this from happening, to keep __America with him because for some reason he can't stand the thought of being left behind, as though it's happened before. It's the blade that he sees weakly glinting in the mud as he sobs, broken, on his knees in the rain as America walks away._

_Canada, forced to watch those he cares for rip themselves and each other apart, hangs his practice sword on the wall and tries to forget he was ever a boy with all those memories, since no one else cares to remember them now._

* * *

><p>Ireland doesn't know what it means when she finds the boy in the countryside outside Armagh. She knows some nations have two personifications, like Italy, but this sudden appearance of a little boy with red-gold hair and bushy brows with shamrocks in his hair is so very strange. His coloring is like hers, but his face reminds him so much of Albion, and the days before Rome when everything was so simple, that she almost can't look at him at first.<p>

But somehow she is recast in Alba's role, carving practice swords of wood and teaching the boy she calls Thuaidh, North, how to use his. She's not sure why she does, except that she remembers her blood singing as she hefted her own sword in battle, and she knows this is the one thing she and her siblings all share. She wants Thuaidh to understand and feel it too, to know where he comes from.

He's a quick study, but so small that she's afraid to hurt him. So she spends as much time telling him stories of great war heroes as she does teaching him this ancient art of war. And she takes to calling him Patrick sometimes, after a gentle priest who stole her heart so long ago.

And she tells him about Alba and Cymru, and Kernow, and the inseparable pair of Albion and Eire. She does not tell him that she is Eire, because this far removed from that past she no longer feels as if she is. She could be talking about strangers when using those ancient names, not bitter Scotland, quiet Wales, resigned Cornwall, and especially not herself, lost among them, or England with Empire in his eyes.

She doesn't let herself think of them, not in this time with her new brother. Instead she moves his hands on the hilt, gently guides him into standing in a better position, and then crosses her makeshift blade with his, wishing it could stay like this with him, could have stayed like this with the others.

* * *

><p><em>Ireland's battle for independence is ended by politicians who come to an agreement, but she and England need the symbolism of one last battle. And so it goes that blades flash silver death between them one final time, only at the end of it England's sword is knocked from his grip and he lifts his hands in surrender.<em>

_Victory is sweet but shortlived, when Patrick - Northern Ireland, she reminds herself coldly - sides with England, leaving her and her tricolor, green, white, and orange, in order to cleave to the Union Jack. She should be used to the betrayal of brothers by now, and yet it still hurts as though she has been dealt a mortal blow with a red-hot sword._

_The sketch arrives just a few days later, of her and Thuaidh in the meadow where she taught him to fight, and the drawing is of them. On the back in her little brother's writing is a promise that he still loves her, he just didn't think she needed him as much. She can't understand why he thinks __**England**_ _needs him, but there is relief in seeing that the circle is not continuing. This is not betrayal, it is one sibling acting in what he thinks are the best interests of the others. It may not make sense, but it is a sign that things are getting better in this strange, warring family._

* * *

><p>There are colonies underfoot all the time now, and Cornwall doesn't know if this amuses or irritates him. He's a shadow of his former self, these days, nothing but a part of England as far as everyone's concerned. He's still lingering, for now, but if people continue to forget him, forget that Cornish is a language and a culture and an <em>identity<em>, he won't last. He writes to Brittany, because she faces the same problem with France, but it doesn't make him feel that much better.

The colonies who live here now - because England is paranoid after America so he has his colonies stay with him - only serve to remind him that there are younger, brighter lights in this world now, and the chance that he'll ever catch up is slim. Still, the little ones are nice enough - the older ones like India ignore him and he returns the favor gladly - so he doesn't mind them much.

It seems, though, that Australia, Hong Kong, and New Zealand have gotten their hands on a book of fairy tales, since he finds them squabbling in the attic. New Zealand doesn't think that being a girl means she has to be the helpless princess, and she says they can both slay dragons together, and Hong Kong can be their sorcerer companion. Australia doesn't seem to like the idea that girls can fight, and Hong Kong just seems bored with all of it.

"Well, none of you can fight if you don't know how," he hears himself saying before he can help himself. They turn to look at him, bewildered, and he grins, going to a chest in the corner. It's his, and one of the things buried at the bottom are the practice swords he, Wales, and Scotland learned to use long ago. He doesn't know why he keeps them, but at the moment he's glad he does.

Australia and New Zealand take to the lessons quickly, eyes bright with interest, but Hong Kong leans against the wall with haughty eyes. "What makes you think my brother China didn't teach me how to fight?" he demands. "He is far older and more experienced than any of you."

Cornwall considers this, and then shrugs. "I'm sure he did, boy, but there's nothing like a good broadsword, and I'm damn sure you Eastern lot don't have those. Why don't you try it before you decide it's not worth your time?"

The commotion draws the attention of the Irelands, and little North wants to jump right in, fetching his own practice sword that he talked England into having made for him. Ireland, for her part, leans against the wall and watches, until Australia again tells New Zealand she's a girl and shouldn't fight, and then she takes the smaller female nation aside to tell her how very untrue that is. Scotland and Wales stick their heads in the door and laugh at the sight of New Zealand soundly thrashing Australia, and Hong Kong dueling with North, intensely focused expressions on both small faces.

England comes later, and is gone so fast that Cornwall almost doesn't see him, but he catches a quick glimpse of his little brother. Watching the young ones learn to fight, England's Empire-chill fades for an instant, and Cornwall sees the lonely melancholy behind it before England is gone and most likely back to his usual self again.

* * *

><p><em>Nursing their 'wounds', Australia and North saw that moment too, and that is why they choose <em>_the paths they do. North stays with the United Kingdom even as his sister takes her freedom and runs. He wants to stay, because if England would just let him, he would make his brother less lonely. Australia gets the freedom from England that other countries took up arms for, and he hesitates to go, refusing at first to accept it. He's tried so hard to be a good little brother, why is he being sent away?_

_In later years, they won't be upset about it, as Australia learns that being his own country doesn't mean he has to reject his family, and Northern Ireland's twin desires to be with England and with Ireland tear him up until finally, finally, his brother and sister stop fighting over him and he has the chance to find out what it means to stand between and beside them both. Australia and New Zealand still cross swords from time to time - and Australia now thinks a fighting woman is downright __**hot**__, not stupid - and North calls up Hong Kong now and then for rematches._

_As for Cornwall, hope returns when people become interested in him again, in what Cornish was and could be. He feels some of his strength returning, and the thought of not being the brightest no longer haunts him, as the fact that his light still burns is enough._

* * *

><p>The U.K. is hosting this particular World Meeting, and that means all of the U.K. brothers are there. Even Scotland, who is normally banned from ever attending again after an unfortunate incident involving a kilt, bagpipes, far too much whiskey, and a pair of handcuffs stolen from Japan of all people. He's not drunk for once when he goads his younger brother, calling him a weakling and a runt, challenging him to a duel, and neither is England when he accepts with flashing eyes.<p>

Sealand, who has so far managed not to get caught out this time, finds the battle fascinating. He wants to learn this! And it's not fair that so many of the other nations seem to know all about it! He notices the other countries in his "family" are all watching. Wales and Cornwall are rolling their eyes, Ireland is laughing with Australia and New Zealand as they cheer the brothers on, Northern Ireland, Hong Kong, and Canada of all people are discussing technique, and America can't look away from England, which makes Sealand roll his eyes.

When it's over he thinks about going and talking to Scotland, but he's talking to Ireland and there's something about it that makes Sealand think he probably shouldn't interrupt. So he looks for England, who is trying not to watch America laughing with Israel. Wow, those two really need to man up and make out, or something. Sealand doesn't really care, so he marches right over to England. "Hey, jerk. Teach me how to use a sword."

England slants him an annoyed look. "First of all, Sealand, you shouldn't even be here. And secondly, why should I teach you anything when you demand it like a spoiled brat?"

"Fine," Peter says sulkily. "It's stupid anyway." He turns to go, but then there's a hand on his shoulder. He looks back to see England with a look in his eyes that Sealand doesn't understand.

"Come on then," he says quietly, and then leads Sealand into a different part of the house and digs through a chest for two practice swords. There's a tiny shamrock carved into the hilt of Sealand's, and he wonders if this used to belong to one of the Irelands, but then they're getting started and he has no chance to ask.

They end up sitting on the floor against the wall and England is talking about King Arthur as Sealand catches his breath. And the boy closes his eyes and listens to his older brother's voice weave the tale, and he hears something in it. Something old and impossible to understand, but somehow soothing and right.

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><p><em>England teaches Sealand how to use a sword with the practice blades he and Ireland used when they were called Albion and Eire. He doesn't know why, though he tells himself it's because they're there and it's a sensible choice. And yet he doesn't really believe that himself.<em>

_Sealand is different from the rest of them. His land is man-made, and England doesn't know if that makes him truly something else or not. He doesn't know if teaching the boy to spar with a dull practice blade will wake the battle lust that sings through the blood even in a duel that means nothing more than show or to prove a point, such as his battle with Scotland. But he tries his best, with the old stories of knights and warriors, even with some of his own experiences as a soldier, a sailor (because he was an innocent sailor before he was the terror of the seas) and a pirate._

_He teaches Sealand because the boy asked, and when he asked, England saw so many things. Eire, intent on their duel, America and Canada laughing as they overbalanced and fell, Cymru or Alba, adjusting his grip, Cornwall supervising North, Australia, New Zealand and Hong Kong at once. He sees America walking away in the rain, Scotland on his knees at Culloden, himself alone in Rome's house because Cymru and Kernow left, Ireland as she walks away free, North and Australia fighting against the very independence others went to war to gain, New Zealand waving a cheery farewell, Hong Kong conflicted standing between him and China, Wales and Cornwall's betrayed eyes when he conquered them, Canada's practice sword hanging on the wall.._

_He teaches Sealand a skill he hopes the boy will never have to use because it is part of a legacy he deserves to know about. He is part of the family, after all. But England would rather see this blood-soaked legacy fade away, and leave only the teaching of the art, something to bond over, behind._

A/N: It started as being about swords, and... I'm not entirely sure where it went from there. Also, Breizh is Brittany. As explained in the family tree, Brittany's status as one of the six Celtic nations makes me think there has to be a tie between her and the British Isles nation-tans, so she's a cousin of sorts, though France is her sibling.


End file.
